#Your father and you only got reunited when you were 22 ...he never stopped searching for you

[anoutlandishfanfic]

Metamorphosis Ch. 22

The Premise: What if Claire had conceived on her wedding night with Jamie? How would this change the the plot points we all know and love?

Last chapter left a newly rescued Jamie from Wentworth, the lovebirds finally reunited. We pick up shortly after that. You can find more here or on AO3.

Mad props to @thefraserwitch for taking the absolute mess I dumped on you, accurately picked up on what I was trying to get at, and helped me refine it into the magic it is now. She’s a genius and a saint, y’all.

Some time later, Christmas Eve 1743.

We finally came to a rattling stop within the abbey’s inner courtyard and were immediately surrounded by helping hands. A stretcher materialized out of nowhere, toted by the monk who climbed aboard without any sort of official greeting, and everyone seemed to set about transferring Jamie onto it at once. 

“Watch his hand,” I hastily urged, leaning forward and reaching out my own to ensure it was positioned stably across his chest as they moved him.  

I struggled to my feet in the space just vacated, my spirit longing to bound after them, but my body having another idea entirely and I groaned internally as Dougal offered to help me up. 

No. Go away, you fucking vulture. 

Dougal had been there, hovering in the background, watching and waiting as we’d made our plans. I’d been wary when he’d volunteered to go to the abbey, sure he was doing everything he could to subvert our mission and would return without a sanctuary secured. 

He hadn’t entirely thwarted our plans — for he had gotten the approval we needed — but he also ensured he would be within arm’s reach to snatch me up, should the men or I fail. 

“Don’t touch me,” I growled as I moved towards the end of the wagon. Willie, whatever he’d been doing now complete, offered his assistance as well and I took it immediately, my feet finally touching solid ground as he lifted me out of the wagon bed.  

Trailing after Jamie and his entourage, Willie stayed by my side and Dougal directly on my heels as we wound our way through a maze of stone corridors, one bending and turning into the next until we arrived at the room the brothers had prepared for us. It was small and sparsely furnished, but it would do. 

“Father Anselm, this is Misses Fraser,” Dougal coolly introduced me to an elderly priest with a kind expression. “He’s agreed to you shelter until… we can find a more permanent solution.”

He’d covered it nicely, but I knew what he’d meant. 

Until I failed. 

But, I wouldn’t fail. 

I would piece together Jamie’s hand and bring him back to health… back me, back to us. 

“Thank you, Father,” I smiled, my gratitude genuine as I ignored Dougal’s veiled threats. “We are most grateful.”

“Think nothing of it,” his returned smile made me want to weep, the almost parental gaze tearing down the facades I’d held in place for far too long as he assured me, “We shall talk later.”

I nodded, suddenly remembering the supplies I’d requested, blurting, “I’m going to need—“

“Your husband’s uncle has given us your instructions, my child,” he cut me off and patted my hand, warming it between his own. 

“You’ll find everything you need on the table there.”

A deep sigh left my lips before I could stop it as I squeezed his hand, meaning what I said with every fiber of my being as I repeated, “Thank you.”

He stepped away at this, revealing Dougal, who had been waiting in the weeds for a perfect time to pounce. 

“Claire, I must speak with ye,” he begged, this time making no effort to hide his motives.  

I side-stepped around him with a huff and tried to continue towards my destination, but he caught hold of my elbow, keeping me in my place. 

“If I don’t set that hand, he’ll be crippled for life,” I seethed, leveling him with a look that should have incapacitated him on the spot. 

Instead, his blue eyes turned ice cold and a sickening smile tugged at his lips as his voice dropped, snidely commenting, “That long?”

I was just about ready to slap him in that smug face of his, but Jamie’s voice gave me the exit I needed. 

“Claire?”

My heart lurched as I instantly turned my attention to him, dismissing Dougal coldly and succinctly as I hurried to my husband’s side, “If you’ll excuse us.”

Snagging a low stool from along the wall, I deposited it beside the bed and eased myself down onto it. His head turned on the pillow, his brow furrowed and eyes screwed up tight in agony as he rasped, “Claire…”

My left hand reached for his — his whole and dominant one — taking hold of him, assuring, “I’m right here, luv.”

The other hand gravitated to his face, pulled by the overwhelming need to take him into my arms. I cupped his cheek with my palm, my thumb tenderly stroking his chilled skin as he struggled to open his eyes. 

“I’ve got you, Jamie,” I promised, silently vowing to never let him go, ever again. 

His blue eyes found mine for the first time, clouded with pain and shrouded with an inner turmoil that cut me to my very core. He frowned as he studied me, searching for something in my face that he couldn’t quite find.  

“Claire,” Jamie murmured again. 

I bent my head, kissing him gently but urgently and I felt a good deal of tension leave his body in a shuddering sigh. My eyes slid shut as I pressed my brow to his, wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed beside him, to fall into mind numbing slumber and wake to find this had all been a terrible dream.  

But it hadn’t been a dream. 

I’d very nearly lost him forever. 

“You’re safe,” I whispered, my voice thick with unshed tears that threatened to fall. 

Jamie let go of my hand and his good arm slipped around my neck, pulling my head to his. I twisted, shifting onto the bed beside him as my body tried to bend that way. The bulk of me made things cumbersome and I struggled to be as close to my husband as I wanted to be. I began to tremble, shaking from head to toe as we clung to each other, the events of the past twenty-four hours suddenly hitting me with the force of a freight train. 

“You’re safe,” I repeated, as much to remind myself as it was to reassure him. 

So many things could have gone wrong. 

Should have gone wrong. 

A gaggle of Highland warriors and their herd of cows should not have been able to break into a fortified British prison, recover a highly guarded inmate, and escape again without losing a single man. 

It shouldn’t have worked. 

But it had. 

And Jamie was safe, here in my arms. 

“Oh God, Jamie,” I hiccuped, unable to hold back my tears any longer. 

I felt him nod against me, his breath catching as he pushed me away ever so slightly, his chin dipping as he stared at what was left of my waist. 

“The bairns?”

I half laughed, half sobbed as I moved his hand against me, guiding it to the place where our children were currently objecting to my bent position. They were busy, thriving within me despite all I’d been through on the road. Relief washed over his face as they demonstrated well-being, dancing and rejoicing at their father’s touch. 

But, soon, the muscles of his jaw began to tighten as he seemed to process a great many things and his head dropped back down onto the pillow… almost in defeat. 

My heart lurched as I murmured, “What is it, luv?”

His left hand drifted over to his right forearm — just above the carnage — as his gaze fixated on a distant spot on the wall, unable to look at me.

“Will it mend?”

“Yes,” I replied without hesitation. 

A knock on the door sounded before I could elaborate, Murtaugh’s inquiring a nighean? announcing his presence. 

“Come in,” I called reluctantly, hastily wiping my cheeks as Murtagh stuck his head in the door. 

“Is there anythin’ I can be fetchin’ for ye?”

Jamie’s head turned on the pillow in response to his godfather’s question and, with an effort, I stood again, forcing a smile as I gathered my resolve.

I wanted nothing more than to send Murtagh off for a doctor, to whisk Jamie off to the nearest hospital where a team of surgeons could repair his hand and I could simply be his wife… allowed to be fearful, to sit in a chair and wait and pray. 

But that option was not available to me. 

Pull it together. Jamie needs you to have a clear head. 

Taking one deep breath and then another, I asked, “Do you have a flask of whisky on you?”

“Aye, always,” a slow smile stretched across Murtagh’s face.

I lifted my chin, clenching my fists at my sides as I insisted, “Then let’s do this.”

I moved away from the bed, heading towards the wash basin that stood in the corner. I slowly cleaned my hands, washing away the grime as I my mind returned to the task at hand. 

What a horrible pun, I flinched and shook my head, trying to rid myself of the connection. 

“Sassenach?”

Jamie’s rasping voice snapped my head to the side, catching sight of him out of the corner of my eye. He was studying me intently, the gears of his mind working something over. 

“Are you alright?”

The soap slipped out of my hand and into the basin with a splash, tears blurring my vision once more. 

“Yes,” I answered a little too quickly, turning back to washing my hands and fishing the soap back out so he wouldn’t see my face. 

Only Jamie would ask such a question. 

His tender care of me was nothing new, but now —while he was incapacitated and in excruciating pain — it sucked the very air from my lungs, bending me over the basin as I gripped the sides. 

“Claire?”

The concern in his voice rose, but I knew I had to keep it together, knowing that if I turned back to face him in this moment, I wouldn't be able to. 

And so, I dried my hands absently as I lied, “I’m fine.”

Murtagh returned just then and extinguished any further discussion over how I was feeling. I set him to work, directing him as to where I needed things while I sterilized my hands the few instruments I had in the whisky, leaving him to do the heavy lifting in relative silence. 

I collected the stack of clean cloths from the table and crossed the room, placing them beside the bucket of fresh water as I tried to settle myself to my work. Standing at the table Murtagh had placed next to the bed, I began arraigning things so that they’d be within easy reach, struggling to put up a calm front before I faced Jamie again. I could hear Murtagh helping Jamie to drink the whisky he’d procured and let him care for his godson for a good many moments as I took the time to deeply inhale and exhale, to harden my resolve and commit to having a clear, objective mindset. 

Finally turning around, I found Jamie’s eyes firmly shut again, caught up in his pain. Murtagh had moved over to the other side of the bed, giving me room to work, and I stiffly positioned myself on my work stool. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, but it was better than being on my feet and bending over him. 

I checked his pulse, finding it steady beneath my fingers and noticing that his breathing had begun to even out as the whisky took on its second use as an analgesic. 

“Sorcha?” 

My heart crashed through the floorboards beneath my feet as his lips slowly formed the syllables of my Gaelic name and the sound of it simultaneously tore down the wall I’d hastily built to protect myself, flaying my heart wide open before him— even as it bolstered and sustained me, giving me the wherewithal to do what I needed to do… to operate on my own husband. 

My hands stilled as I returned my attention to him, my lips forming a wobbly smile as I met his gaze. I saw the vestiges of pain still remaining in the corners of his consciousness, but the magical elixir of alcohol told him he no longer need care about it and he bought that lie hook, line, and sinker. 

“Right here, luv,” I murmured, dipping my head. 

“I… I’m sorry,” he stammered. “You shouldna… you should be… I’m so sorry, mo nighean donn.”

“Jamie,” his name tumbled from my lips as I pressed my cheek to his, crooning in his ear, but he continued.

“You should be a’ Lallybroch broodin’... makin’ yer nest jes the way you like it… no’ slavin’ to mend what canna be mended.”

“Your hand will heal,” I lifted my head in order to look him right in the eyes. He started to disagree, but I stopped him, emphatically repeating myself, “Your hand will heal… and I can’t build my nest without you.”

Infection was my main concern, mostly in his pinky, but I was confident the bones would heal with time. He would likely experience stiffness in the joints and could possibly lose some degree of range of motion as well, but I would do everything within my power to make sure he stood the best chance of a full and total recovery. 

He squeezed my hand as his eyes slid shut with a sigh, his questions now answered and his mind at relative ease. I squeezed back, patting his hand gently as my spirit offered up a prayer that my words would prove true.

...

I’d treated horrific injuries in the war, many more unfathomable than the task before me… but none had been my husband. 

The wounded soldier had always been a stranger. 

Sure, I’d gotten to know many as they recuperated, but they were unknown souls as they lay broken before me on the operating table. But now, for better or for worse, both the soldier and the surgery were completely mine. 

I knew every inch of my husband’s body… I could map out his every line, every curve with my eyes closed. 

But could I operate on him?

Could I set aside the swirling maelstrom of self-doubt and fear of failing and perform a surgery that would place him in more pain than he was already in, even though I knew it would lessen his pain in the future? Could I overcome the suffocating grief at seeing Jamie like this and overwhelming rage I felt towards the sadistic monster who’d inflicted the wounds in order for me to heal them?

Did I really have a choice?

No. 

I slid my eyes shut as I pressed my palms against the table, forcing myself to swallow my emotions, to bury them deep within me. I took a deep breath… and another… and then one more. 

My head stopped spinning and clarity was restored to me bit by bit as I began to go about the surgery in my mind. I knew that it would be a long, nerve wracking job and that I’d need to be focused, to be completely in tune with the workings of Jamie’s body. 

I was halfway across the room before I even realized I was moving, returning to Jamie out of pure instinct and a blind need to feel his pulse thrumming beneath my fingertips. Sinking down beside him, I remembered something he’d done on our wedding night…

He’d held my hand, even taken me into his arms when sharing our hearts was painful. He’d said that it would be easier if we were touching and it had always proven to be true. 

Why would it not be now?

I gently positioned Jamie’s right arm the way I needed it, but the jostling was enough to rouse him from the drunken slumber he’d settled into, his face contorting in pain. 

Stopping this and twisting to pick up the measured amount of laudanum, I offered it to him. 

“Here, this will help.”

Jamie took the cup and downed its contents gladly, only protesting once he’d swallowed it in one gulp. He screwed up his face in disgust, his jaw dropping and his tongue sticking out as he complained, “A dhia, Sassenach… tha’s foul.”

“It’s strong,” I half apologized, half explained, “but it does the trick.”

He nodded, taking this in stride as he handed me back the cup, holding my hand once his was empty once more. His grip was surprisingly tight and I paused to study his face, finding stark fear under the layers of alcohol and physical pain. 

“It’ll be alright,” I assured him, trying to make myself believe it as well. 

“Oh, aye, mo nighean donn,” his chin tilted up to look at me as he settled himself against the pillows. “Tis no’ the pain… but what I’ll find once it’s gone, aye?”

I watched him struggle for a moment and then could bear it no longer. Dipping my head, I kissed him long and hard, only coming up for air when I finally felt him relax beneath me.  

I pressed my brow against his, whispering, “Find me.”

“I’ll be right here with you, Jamie… at your side when you wake and along with you in your dreams.”

A deep, heavy sigh escaped him and I could tell the laudanum was beginning to take effect. His gaze was distant as he struggled to keep his eyes open, fighting to stay alert instead of letting the drug’s numbing tide take him under. 

“I’ve got you, Jamie,” I murmured, my thumb stroking his cheek.

“You’re safe.”

I kissed him again and the last vestiges of tension left his body as he finally drifted off, the lines of pain disappearing from his face, leaving him very much like the last morning I’d spent with him… completely at peace. 

“I’ll fetch a few more lamps for ye, lass,” Murtagh murmured, quietly taking his leave. 

I sat up after a moment, taking a deep breath and setting my sights on Jamie’s right hand. 

“Bone of my bone, mmm?” I intoned wryly, speaking to him even though he couldn’t — wouldn’t — respond. 

But... if there was a small chance… even a remote possibility that hearing my voice would keep his demons at bay while he was unconscious, I’d eagerly read him the entire Encyclopedia Britannica without hesitation. 

Checking his pulse briefly and finding it still strong, I heaved myself back up and moved away to clean my hands again. It was well worth going about the sanitization process an extra time to be able to touch Jamie, to reassure him as he went under, but I mentally chastised myself for not moving the necessary supplies closer. 

“What I wouldn’t give for a bar of carbolic soap or a team of qualified surgeons… but, here we are,” I sighed. “Although, come to think of it, I don’t believe you’d protest much about being stuck with me and a bottle of strong whisky under any normal circumstances…”

Shaking my head at the thought, I let out a decided snort. 

“And just what exactly is normal for us, James Fraser?”

Traipsing around the Highlands in every sort of weather? Evading the grasp of the latest in a string of people bent on killing one or both of us? 

No, Jamie and I never had anything resembling normal our almost six months of marriage… 

I peeked over my shoulder at him, needing to be reassured that he really was here with me, and found exactly what I’d expected… he hadn’t moved so much as a fraction of an inch. Jamie’s chest rose and fell at steady, slow increments, effectively qualming the ridiculous notion that he’d stopped breathing while my back was turned.

Tucking my lower lip firmly between my teeth, I gnawed at it as I resumed my work, going about the meticulous process of getting my hands as clean as I possibly could. 

Murtagh returned with the extra lamps in hand as I was rinsing my hands in the whisky for a third time. He set them down, then drifted back to my side, studying me intently as he inquired, “What else can I do, a nighean?”

I paused and shifted my attention back to our patient. We’d removed what was left of Jamie’s clothing long ago, giving our patient a quick once over to get most of the grime off of him, but there was still far more dirt in and around his more minor wounds than I was comfortable with. 

“The gashes on his chest… could you wash them again? Rinse them with the whisky?”

Murtagh looked relieved to be of use as he nodded and I gave him a weary smile in return. We worked together but separately, settling into a comfortable silence as we gave our full attention to our respective tasks, caring for the one that our hearts both loved. 

With the hand finally clean, I could now begin to reassemble what was left of Jamie’s pinky finger. The very tip of it had been left behind in whatever hell-hole he’d inhabited and the bones that remained were splintered almost beyond repair… but with hours of meticulous attention, I was able to get it to the place where it stood a chance of healing properly. 

This having been accomplished, I moved on to his ring finger. He had impressive compound fractures in both his middle and proximal phalanx and it took considerable force to draw the ends of the bones back through the skin, eliciting concern from my ragtag assistant. 

“What the hell are ye doin’?!”

Murtagh was opposite me in an instant, gaping at me from across the work table. I tried to ignore him, hoping he’d take the hint and go back to whatever it was that he was doing, but he remained. He hovered in my peripheral vision, arms tightly crossed and disapproval radiating from every ounce of him. 

“Setting — his — fucking — finger,” I finally grunted in answer when I could. 

Proximal phalanx now in place, I quickly glanced up at him and found a look of half astonished wonder and half complete disquiet at what he’d just witnessed. Murtagh had seen his fair share of violence and wounds it produced in his life, I was sure, but watching someone exert relatively brute force to heal another would be an occurrence of absolute rarity. 

I returned my focus to completing my work, but the interruption made me realize just how much I’d lost awareness of anything outside the job I was doing. I noticed that ache of my stiff joints began to settle in as I finished off the final stitch, the fatigue burning my eyes as I carefully splinted the hand, surgery now complete. I felt myself begin to tremble as I bandaged Jamie’s hand, finalizing this first step in his recovery process. 

The end of the roll slipped out of my grasp before I could stop it and Murtagh quickly ushered me to a chair along the wall, sturdier and more comfortable than the low stool I’d been occupying. He opened the window a tiny bit, letting in the cold, clean air and I took great gulps of it. 

I tipped my head back, letting my eyes slide shut as I fought a sudden wave of dizzying nausea. My hands took great fistfuls of my makeshift apron as I filled my lungs with the night air, trying to rid my nose of the heavy scent of blood. 

Jamie’s blood. 

Much to my immediate relief, I found that an empty bucket was within arm’s reach and stuck my head into it just in time. I could hear Murtagh’s muttered grumblings as he hurried back to my side, but paid him no heed as everything I’d repressed in the last hours came rushing to the forefront. I began to tremble violently as every muscle in my body gave out, my chest heaving with the sobs I could no longer contain. 

“Shh, a leannan,” he crooned and took me into his arms, setting aside the bucket and paying no heed to my complete and utter disarray. 

“Ye’ve done it… tis over now.”

It’s over. 

It’d taken everything within me and then some, but I had done it. I had successfully set, sutured, and stabilized every injured finger on Jamie’s hand… I had wielded every weapon within my arsenal and came out the other side victorious. 

“I can finish yer bandagin’, a nighean,” he assured me, his voice kind but insistent. “My coverin’ will keep til morn… he willna be movin it about much, aye?”

The smile I found in his eyes gave me what I needed to keep my wits about me. I nodded wearily and watched as he — to my surprise — wrapped Jamie’s hand quite efficiently in the cloth bandage. It certainly wouldn���t hold if Jamie used the arm, but our patient wouldn’t be conscious for a good while yet and in no shape to do much more than breathe when he was. 

No, as Murtagh so eloquently stated, it would keep until the morn. 

My chest heaved as my head slowly cleared and I opened my eyes, blinking down at Murtagh — who was now kneeling at my feet — through my tears. There was something eating at him, words he wanted to say, but chose for the moment to keep to himself. 

“Spit it out,” I grumbled, “or else it’s going to choke you.”

Kind concern lit his eyes and it was this that kept me from descending into abject panic as he gently urged, “Go to bed, lass.”

Still, the very suggestion had my heart rate skyrocketing and my mouth completely dry. 

“I’m not leaving him,” I choked out. 

“An’ ye think I will?” he snorted, one brow nearly reaching the ceiling. 

I shook my head, unwilling to so much as budge from this chair. 

“I’ll stay wi’ him through the night, a nighean,” he coaxed. “Ye said yerself he wouldna wake before morn and ye need to sleep.”

I didn’t think he would. 

My dosage of the laudanum had been approximate, wanting him to be completely under for the procedure but not so much as to cause problems. I’d never worked with the substance before, the bottle remaining untouched in my medicine box until now, and therefore had no more than a general idea of when Jamie would wake. The combination of his hangover and pain from the wounds would no doubt keep him unconscious for a time after that and I could only hope that he’d sleep away what was left of the dark night. 

I chewed on my bottom lip as I struggled between not wanting to leave my husbands side ever again for so much as a minute and the overwhelming desire to crawl into an actual bed and sleep until the next millennia… and slumber’s tow was winning. 

I eyed him cautiously, testing, “You’ll send for me if there’s any change?”

“Without hesitation,” he promised. 

“And not let Dougal so much as touch him?”

“Oh, aye,” Murtagh’s voice dropped to a near growl. “No one save Father Anselm himself will step through that door until you do.”

My gaze shifted to where Jamie’s prostrate form lay on the bed, the slight rise and fall of his chest the only indication that he was still alive. 

“Go,” Murtagh squeezed my hand, bringing my attention back to my husband’s godfather. 

“I’ll see him through.”

A weary smile tugged at the corners of my mouth and, taking this as a sign of committal, Murtagh helped me to my feet. I swayed slightly, my head spinning, and his grip on me tightened, supporting me fully should I need it. 

Oh God, did I ever. 

Jamie had said to me once that he could bear pain himself, but he couldn’t bear mine… that it would take more strength than he had. 

He was right, it did take strength. 

I only hoped that each of us had enough. 

Instead of heading towards the door, I turned to the wash basin, longing to rid myself of the last remnants of Jamie’s blood from my hands. Murtagh made small noises of protestation, but eventually saw the logic in this and acquiesced. 

The soft refrains of the Gloria drifted through the crack at the bottom of the chamber’s door and my hands stilled as I dried them off, my head tipping to one side. 

“What time is it?”

Murtagh looked towards the door too, pondering, “Long past midnight, to be sure.”

“Then it’s Christmas,” I murmured in reverent awe. 

“Aye,” his voice lowered as well, “so it is.”

Murtagh knew where I was headed I even before I took a step and smoothly led me back to Jamie’s side without so much as a grumble, helping me to sit down on the edge of the bed. I took hold of Jamie’s right hand, pulling it into my lap, and clung to it. 

“Happy Christmas,” I murmured to him, picking back up the pattern of speaking my thoughts out loud… hoping he could hear me, that my words would keep his demons at bay for even a short while. 

[dailyaudiobible]

04/24/2018 DAB Transcript

Judges 2:10-3:31, Luke 22:14-34, Psalms 92:1-93:5, Proverbs 14:1-2

Today is the 24th day of April. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian and, as is the case every day, It's a pleasure to be here with you to take the next step forward. That's what we've come to do, the next step, the next step forward as we continue to move through the Scriptures this year. And we’re kind of launching ourselves into the book of Judges, which is essentially the story of what happens after Joshua, what happens after the people get into the land and begin settling it. And, so, we’ll pick up today where we left off yesterday. We’re reading from the God's Word translation. Judges chapter 2 verse 10 through 3 verse 31.

Commentary:

Alright. So, we are moving in, now have been introduced to a couple of Judges. Some of the stories in the book of Judges will meet these people who were very, very influential over the culture for their lifetime, but all of that will be encapsulated into just a very small couple paragraphs. Others will chase their stories down and get full detail. And the book of Judges isn't particularly a flowery book. It's the story of what happens after Joshua. And, so, we’re going to cover quite a few generations of back-and-forth. And the children of Israel are in the Promised Land but they are doing exactly what they were warned against. And, I mean, if we remember the book of Deuteronomy, we remember Moses going at length in great detail over every possible eventuality and warned them about the trajectories that they could choose once they get into the land. Joshua did the same thing and here we are and they’re making these choices that are leading them away from God and into idolatry and mixture that they were warned about. So, from a macro level, here we are. The children of Israel have been, you know, chasing the Promised Land since the beginning of the Bible. Now they’re in the Promised Land and everything that they've been warned about they’re doing. So, let’s just watch where the road goes because this is a mirror of our own lives. And we do the same thing, right? We can do what we know is wrong willfully, continually, habitually and it goes somewhere and it's not good and then we turn around and blame God or everyone else. And, so, you know, let’s just watch this playout in the book of Judges.

And then, of course, in the book of Luke we are at, you know, we’re entering into the passion story once again through Luke's eyes.

And then we come to Psalm 92 and 93, which are beautiful, beautiful Psalms to read. But right up at the top, right in the beginning of Psalm 92, embedded just almost as like a little secret is a tip, a practice, one that if we will put it into practice in our lives will most assuredly change the atmosphere of our days. ‘It is good’, the psalmist says, ‘it is good to announce your mercy in the morning and your faithfulness in the evening.’ It's good to announce these things. In other words, it's good to wake up and as your brain kind of engages and your heart and your body all get reunited from a good night’s sleep and you get up and you get moving. It's good to declare the mercy of the Lord that is new every morning over your life, over your family, over the world, over all of the events of the day. It is good to announce God's mercy in the morning according to the Psalms. And it's good to announce His faithfulness in the evening, right? At the end of the day when you can look back and see that you have basked and bathed in the mercy of the Lord all day long and He has been faithful. This practice in the morning and in the evening would only ever orient our heart to God. And according to the Psalms it's good. This is a good idea. This is a good thing to do. So, that's simple enough. Write that one down. Begin to put that in practice. Try it the rest of this week. See what it does inside of you and continue it forward and you'll find that every morning and every evening you are orienting your heart back to God and paying attention to what is happening in your life.

Prayer:

Holy Spirit, we invite You into that by first saying, Your mercy is new every morning and we see that and we declare that and we announce Your mercy. And Your faithfulness, Father, it chases us through every day. You are always with us. We are not always paying attention. But You are always with us. You are faithful in so many things that we don't even take the time to observe. But we’re working on that and we invite Your Holy Spirit to help us so that at the end of each day we can announce Your faithfulness. And we can do it specifically. We can see the specific ways that as we've become aware of Your presence and listened to the guidance of Your Holy Spirit, that we've seen You be faithful. So, come Holy Spirit as we begin to pay attention to these little instructions that do so much inside of us. Come, Holy Spirit we pray. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is the website, it’s home base, it’s where you find out what’s going on around here. So, be sure to check it out.

Check out the resources that are available in the Daily Audio Bible shop, including all of our Wind Farm coffee and tea. The journals that we have that have been specially formulated and made and writing utensils to just take notes, continue to journal your story through the Bible this year. There are number of resources available. So, check that out.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, thank you. We are a community. We call this the global campfire. It's always burning. The word of the Lord is always being spoken and someone's always around the campfire. And this wouldn’t happen if we didn't do this together. So, thank you for your partnership. There’s a link on the homepage at dailyaudiobible.com. If you are you using the Daily Audio Bible app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or, if you prefer, the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or comment, 877-942-4253 is the number to dial.

And that's it for today. I'm Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hey everybody it’s Margo from Australia. I was actually going to call in about something else today but I’ve just heard on today’s reading, oh, darn it, I’ve forgotten her name from Arizona. Anyway, her husband has cancer and his name is Boyd, I remember that. And it occurs to me that of all the calls and of all the prayer requests we get on here, this is the one, this is the sharpest call of most vital significance. I want you to know beautiful lady I am praying for Boyd. He has cancer and is dying and he may not know the Lord. So, this is…this is a crucial prayer request. And I want to encourage everyone right now, stop what you’re doing and pray for Boyd because this is a man who may die without knowing Jesus. So, I’m praying, I’m believing in Jesus’ name that the Lord will reveal Himself, reveal His face to Boyd and Boyd will make a genuine, 100% devoted commitment to Jesus before he dies. And I’m going to commit to keep praying for that. And I’m really asking everyone else to do the same. This is…this is, as I’ve said, the most important type of prayer request that we could ever receive. God bless you. Have a lovely day. Bye for now.

Hello DABbers. This is EZ and I wanted to reach out because I heard in the community prayer, the prayers for the infant named Pierce who has just had a terrible, terrible time. And I wanted to kind of use this as kind of a lead in to say, what is going to say the other day, it was just to share just a small bit of my story. I was 1 pound when I was born. I was 4 months premature. I dropped down to underneath the pound. I had pneumonia, head bleeds, seizures, meningitis - all at the same time, simultaneously. It was a giant international news story. CNN covered it. We got letters and phone calls from all over the world, including a beautiful, incredible letter from Pres. Reagan when he was still in the White House. Those of you who are old enough to remember, know what a great communicator he was. And it was something that if Brian wants me to I’ll send it in and let him read it…on the program. It’s amazing. Basically, that there is a purpose. And as long as there is life there is hope. And one day we will all understand why I and now Pierce have gone through the things what we’ve gone through. I never looked at it as a struggle. I came home 4 months later. They found out I was going to stay blind, which I have. But I have succeeded by the grace and power of God, the faith of people all over, and an amazing family and friends. And I believe firmly that he will do the same because when you are enveloped and surrounded by prayers and you are surrounded by the peace that passes all understanding, the plan that He has for you is going to come to fruition no matter what adversity is thrown at you. I am living proof of it. And I claim that promise now for Pierce. I just…

Hello Daily Audio Bible. This is __ calling from Syracuse New York. And I just heard Vicki call in from Arizona about her husband who is dying from cancer. And the Lord just really prompted me to call back because I had called a month ago. And Vicki, I’m in the same boat. My 55-year-old wife of almost 28 years is dying from a horrible, horrible type with ovarian cancer. And it’s so sad to see her body just decaying and just being corrupted. And I guess, to be honest with you, my hope lies in the Scripture that I’ve just been searching day and night and it’s there. And there’s a beautiful piece in Corinthians. ‘Therefore, we don’t lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, inwardly we are renewed day by day for our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So, we fix our eyes, not on what is seen, but what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary but what is unseen is eternal.’ And I, just absolutely amazed at the power that comes from the Scriptures. And even later in Corinthians, when Paul was talking about the resurrection, he said, ‘so it is with the resurrection of the dead, that what is sown is perishable but what is raised is imperishable. What is sown in dishonor is raised in glory.’ So, Vicki, just keep looking to God, keep looking to Jesus Christ. He is the answer. Love you so much and my prayers are with you. God bless you. Bye-bye family.

Hi. This is Nancy from Delaware. I wanted to pray for Vicki who called in on April 22nd from Arizona. She was praying for salvation for her husband of 37 years. Vicki, I just want to tell you, I prayed for 35 years and three years ago my husband gave his life the Sunday before he died. I would pursue him with the gospel and have faith that God did promise you’ll have full salvation. So many people prayed for my husband as I know they probably have pray for yours. And just keep believing that before he leaves this world that the good Lord is going to take him. I was with my husband in a miraculous way the day he died. And after everybody left I was alone with him as he died and it was such a blessing. __ such hourly. And I just wanted to encourage you from somebody. I was married 35 years with my husband. And I know __  you and I just wanted to encourage you. Keep praying. God is so good. And I know he’ll hear your prayers. God bless you Vicki.

Daily Audio Bible brothers and sisters. I want to thank you so much for being a part of my spiritual family. I also want to remind those of us that worry about our family and our children and our friends about their everlasting lives, that we have to trust in the Lord. And if they’ve been saved then we have to believe in their salvation and not fret over it because their spiritual journey is not our spiritual journey and their relationship with Christ is not the same as ours. So, we just have to believe in that. Do not waste a moment of your time and your love of that person worrying about their salvation. Love them, walk in love, let them see Christ in you and maybe you will be able to start to see Christ in them. Love each other. Thank you so much brothers and sisters for letting me be a part of this family, even though normally I just listen. And I pray for you. And I am so thankful. I’ve been a part of this family for 11+ years and it has truly been a blessing to my life. Talk to you guys later. Love you.

[itsworn]

Found: The Last Wing Car

On New Year’s Eve 1983, Mario Rossi vanished off the face of the Earth. Not long after his disappearance, Mario’s son, Bill, went on a quest to locate and purchase one of his father’s race cars. After 33 years, he found what he was looking for.

From 1968–1971 Rossi’s Automotive Engineering maintained and operated a highly successful NASCAR race team. During the team’s five-year existence, four drivers piloted Rossi race cars, including Donnie Allison (1967), Darel Dieringer (1968), Bobby Allison (1969–1970), and Dick Brooks (1971).

In 1970 Rossi came up with the idea to de-stroke a Chrysler 340 TA engine to meet the new 305ci engine displacement mandate for the 1971 NASCAR season. To keep the wing or aero cars from showing up at the 1971 Daytona 500, this rule was mandated to eliminate wing cars from competition without banning them, as it was believed no one would take the risk of running a 305ci engine in a Super Bird or Daytona.

With the help of Chrysler Cooperation and legendary engine builder Keith Black, Rossi reengineered the Daytona for the small-block 340 engine. He did not enter the Rossi 305 Daytona to compete. Rossi’s Automotive Engineering built it to win!

With Dick Brooks behind the wheel, the Daytona competed and did well, considering it was involved in a serious crash. Brooks was clipped in the driver-side quarter-panel by the Plymouth Road Runner driven by Pete Hamilton and owned by Cotton Owens. After being two laps down, Brooks came back into the mix with a respectful Seventh Place finish.

This Daytona is the last wing car to compete in a NASCAR-sanctioned Grand National race and the last race car built by Mario Rossi at his shop in Spartanburg, South Carolina.

Fast-forward to New Year’s Eve 1983, with Mario Rossi vanishing and leaving behind two children: Bill, 21, and Tina, 18. This moment in time is when Bill began his quest to locate and purchase one of his father’s cars.

It wasn’t until 2001 that Bill came across a listing for a Rossi Dodge race car. It was owned by West Coast race-car driver Jack McCoy. The two discussed a possible sale, but the asking price was more than Bill could afford. Dejected at the time, he never gave up hope to one day own one of his father’s race cars.

In 2005, nearly 25 years into his search, Cotton Owens informed Bill of a Dodge Daytona sitting idle for years in Spartanburg. Owens told Bill it was the real deal and one of the race cars from the Hylton Engineering race team. Bill contacted the seller and made the purchase, with plans to one day restore it back to NASCAR racing standards. It wasn’t one of his dad’s race cars, but it was a real racing Daytona.

Bill then received a phone call from Harold Tarter in 2013 about the Rossi Dodge he’d just purchased. Tarter said, “You and your family should be the owners of this car. I’m going to let it go, and I’d like you to be the one who owns it.” The deal they came up with was to exchange race cars. Bill Rossi received the Rossi Dodge, while Tarter got the Hylton Daytona. Rossi is still blown away by how Tarter went out of his way to make Rossi the rightful owner. Not only will the Daytona be restored but plans are also underway to resurrect Rossi’s Automotive Engineering explicitly to restore the iconic Rossi 305 Daytona.

During the 2015 Aero Car Reunion in Alabama, Rossi met builder Stephen Sigel, who was restoring the Hylton Daytona. After discussing some details, Rossi has arranged for Sigel to restore the Rossi Daytona, too, reuniting the two cars in restoration. Not long after receiving the Rossi Dodge, Sigel reached out to Doug Dempsey, who has done extensive research validating the origin of race cars, including the Bettenhausen Daytona, Robbins Daytona, and others. He confirmed what was already assumed—this was the Rossi Daytona.

A key component to the restoration will be the one-of-a-kind, small-block, 305ci engine built by Daniel Boshears, owner of Red Rocket Engine Company in Flintstone, Georgia. Boshears is also the chief mechanic for the Wellborn Muscle Car Museum. The Rossi Daytona restoration is scheduled to be completed in October 2017. It will be unveiled during a special event at the Wellborn Muscle Car Museum in Alexander City, Alabama, on Friday, October 13.

Richard “Dick” Brooks races around Daytona International Speedway in his No. 22 Mario Rossi Dodge during practice for the 1971 Daytona 500.

Bill Rossi announces plans to build the Rossi 305 Daytona and resurrection of Rossi’s Automotive Engineering at Sigel Enterprises. Bill is wearing one of the original red/gold Rossi No. 22 jackets.

Bill Rossi holds the Grey-Rock Taus/Gordon Safety Award. In 1971 his father, Mario, was picked by his racing peers to receive the special safety award. The one-of-a-kind brass bust was created by an artist to resemble Mario.

A limited number of 1:25-scale model cars were produced of the Rossi 305 Daytona after it made history as the last wing car to run a NASCAR-sanctioned race at the 1971 Daytona 500.

Left to right: Dick Brooks and Mario Rossi put the finishing touches on the 305ci V8 engine prior to the installation in the Rossi Daytona in 1971.

This group of five people and others will be part of the new Rossi’s Automotive Engineering team. Each person will bring a specific area of expertise to the build. From left to right: Oscar Leech, electrical and bodywork; Stephen Sigel, crew chief and paint; Bill Rossi, car owner; Ed Clement, race-car chassis fabrication specialist; and Jeff Drennen, race-car fabrication technician.

The No. 22 Mario Rossi owned by Dodge and driven by Dick Brooks during the 1971 Daytona 500 at Daytona International Speedway.

The No. 22 making a pit stop during the 1971 Daytona.

No. 43 Richard Petty and No. 6 Pete Hamilton lead a pack of cars that includes No. 71 Bobby Isaac, No. 27 Donnie Allison, and No. 22 Dick Brooks during the 1971 Daytona 500. Petty won the race in his Petty Enterprises Plymouth.

Bill Rossi with an original Rossi’s Automotive Engineering No. 22 mechanics creeper and the rolling Rossi Dodge chassis soon after picking it up in Illinois, where it had been sitting idle for more than two years. Rossi had not seen it in person since acquiring it from Harold Tarter in 2014. The rolling Dodge chassis was traded for a Daytona race car chassis originally campaigned by the James Hylton race team. Neither Bill nor Tarter knew what they had in the Rossi Dodge Chassis.

The No. 22 Dick Brooks Mario Rossi Dodge leads a pack of cars during the 1971 Daytona 500.

The No. 12 Bobby Allison Dodge races the No. 22 Dick Brooks Dodge during the 1971 Daytona 500.

Specific parts from the Rossi 305 Daytona chassis and 1970 Dodge Charger donor car will serve as the foundation for the race car. The build is being done at Sigel Enterprises, the new home of Rossi’s Automotive Engineering in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.

Dick Brooks pilots the Rossi 305 Daytona during the Daytona 500 Race in 1971. Despite a crash and being two laps down, Brooks came back to finish seventh.

Bill holds one of the Brooks Charger model-car kits during the official announcement of the Rossi 305 build and resurrection of Rossi’s Automotive Engineering.

The Rossi Dodge arrives at Sigel Enterprises prior to the dissection of the rolling chassis. This was prior to the discovery of the evidence indicating Bill had found his father’s historic 305 Daytona.

The Rossi Dodge begins the dissection process.

The post Found: The Last Wing Car appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

from Hot Rod Network http://www.hotrod.com/articles/found-last-wing-car/ via IFTTT